A Helping Hand   :COMPLETE
by Ann
Summary: Emily Farnsworth gives Matthew Stetson a bit of help.   Takes place 40 years before the show.


Disclaimer: Scarecrow and Mrs. King is copyrighted to Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon Production Company. The story, however, is copyrighted to the author. This story is for entertainment purposes only and cannot be redistributed, reproduced, archived, reposted, or forwarded without the permission of the author.

Title: Emily and Mrs. King

Author: Ann ()

Date written : Spring 2002

Synopsis: In the episode "Unfinished Business", Lee and Amanda find his mother's diary and in it the story of how Jennifer Hamilton met Matthew Stetson in a very similar manner to how Amanda met Lee. This story provides a few more details about that meeting. It is told from the pov of Emily Farnsworth who later also became a good friend of Lee and Amanda's.

A Helping Hand

Afterwards James actually had the audacity to refer to me as a matchmaker. I was quick to point out that his accusation was absurd - the couple in question had already met before I'd gotten involved. Was it my fault they needed a bit of help after that?

The whole thing had begun, well at least my part in it, on a typical Wednesday morning with my stopping off at my husband's office.

"Is James about?" I asked one of his colleagues. Holding up a sheaf of papers, I added, "He rang me earlier and asked if I could bring him a file from home."

McPherson nodded his head toward the area behind him. "He's in with the old man, trying to save Stetson's skin."

As if on cue, a burst of shouting penetrated the walls of the inner sanctum, only a few words distinct enough to make out. "Of all the . . . never in my career . . . what the hell were you thinking of . . . civilian . . . irretrievably lost . . ."

I took an involuntary step back, glad that it wasn't my husband who bore the brunt of such anger. On the other hand, I was also dismayed; the person being verbally flayed was a good friend of mine. "What did he do?" I asked in a low tone.

McPherson glanced quickly around the office before replying. Technically, I didn't have clearance to know much of the inner workings of the Foreign Office. However, as a result of James' status and my frequent visits to the office, I'd become almost unofficially official. Besides, McPherson was a notorious gossip, and I knew he'd be hard pressed to keep in what obviously was a juicy tidbit of information. Whoever had made up that old chestnut about the three best ways to disseminate news - telegraph, telephone, tell a woman - had evidently never met Alexander McPherson.

Sure enough, it took all of five seconds before he crumbled. "Last night Stetson was supposed to deliver a classified document. Somehow, someone got wind of it and followed him. So he," the Scotsman shook his head in amazement, "handed it off to some young lassie on the street."

"You mean, someone he didn't even know?" I couldn't help but blurt out in surprise.

McPherson gave a short snort of laughter. "Aye, can you believe it? Only a Yank would have the gall to try something like that," he said derisively, all but rubbing his hands together with glee as he continued. "Donohue is fit to be tied. I told him from the start it wouldn't work - these Yanks are all alike, think they know everything." He snorted again. "Army Intelligence, now there's an oxymoron."

I raised my eyebrows, not wishing to get into an argument but unwilling to let McPherson think I shared his sentiments either. He'd been openly jealous of the officer assigned as liaison with the British Foreign Office from the first day. The handsome American had set more than a few hearts fluttering in the group of secretaries and WACs, and it wasn't hard to see why. Just because I was happily married to James myself, didn't mean that I'd become blind.

After listening to McPherson make yet another disparaging remark about 'upstart Yankees', I was on the verge of reminding him rather pointedly that I had been born in the United States myself, when the door to Donohue's office burst open and two men exited. The subject of our conversation headed straight for a desk, threw himself into the chair, viciously yanked open a drawer and began rifling through its contents.

James also headed for his own desk, although at a much more relaxed pace, before I waved and caught his eye. His face broke into a welcoming smile as he altered course and approached me. His lips barely grazed my cheek before he reached for the file I'd brought. I never minded that James was rarely demonstrative in public, since he more than made up for it when we were at home.

"Thanks, love," was all he said, but the look in his eyes told me how happy he was to see me, and not just because of the file.

"Have you time for lunch?" I inquired, catching hold of his free hand.

He shook his head regretfully. "Not now that I have this. I really should have been on it earlier." Seeing my disappointed look he added, "Why don't you take our young friend there out for a bite? He's had a pretty rough morning."

I had to smile. 'Young friend.' James was almost ten years my senior and at times seemed to regard everyone under the age of thirty-five as if they were still in diapers, or rather, nappies, as I'd learned to say over here. Luckily he'd made a marked exception in my case.

I'd met him five years earlier, when my theatre group was on a tour of England and France. My parents had been somewhat less than thrilled with the idea of their only daughter travelling so far from home, especially given the tenuous world situation at the time. My mother had begged me not to go, predicting one dire event after another. Still, I don't think any of us really expected that anything serious would happen. Certainly not that I would meet a young British viscount, the two of us would fall in love and I'd end up as Lady Farnsworth, splitting my time between an estate in the Lake District and a townhome in London.

"Okay, I'll see you at home, then." We exchanged another discreet kiss before I turned and headed across the office.

"Good morning, Matthew," I remarked as I approached his desk.

"Morning, Emily. Although I fail to see what's so good about it," he said darkly, looking up with a frown from the paperwork he was in the process of viciously assaulting with a pen.

"It can't be that bad." I pulled over a nearby chair closer and sat down.

Matthew's scowl deepened. "How about two solid weeks of desk duty? Two weeks!" he repeated as if no one could be expected to believe such a thing on first hearing, banging his fist down on the desktop for additional emphasis.

I reached out and patted his arm. "You know Donohue. Three days from now, his temper will have cooled, something will come up that he needs you for, and you'll be right back out there. You just have to lie low for a bit."

"If you say so," he muttered, turning back to his files.

"Look, it's almost lunch time. How about I take you out for a pint, and by the time we get back I'll wager Donohue will have a new assignment waiting on your desk," I said in an encouraging tone.

Matthew looked up, as if giving my offer due consideration before answering, "You're on. But I'm buying."

He stood up and we headed for the door. Wending our way through the sea of tightly crammed desks, I could feel the envious glances of several of the office girls trailing after us like waterweed. So far Matthew had proven impervious to their charms and stratagems. Which of course just made some of them all the more determined. I could have told them they were wasting their time. Matthew Stetson wasn't the type who engaged in shallow game playing.

Not that he was anti-social. It was just that he held himself back, as if content to wait for just the right girl to come along, and until she did, he would simply bide his time. I had met Matthew not long after his arrival in the Foreign Office, when James had invited him home for dinner and later to various social events. Over time I'd become quite fond of Matthew myself, as he somewhat filled the void created by the absence of the two brothers I'd left behind in California.

I judiciously waited until we were seated at a table in The Dog and Dodo and each had a drink in hand before asking, "So what exactly happened to set Donohue off? I haven't seen so many fireworks since my first Guy Fawkes Day here."

Matthew shrugged and downed half of his pint in one go. "Not much to say. Last night I was about to be collared by some unsavoury types, so I came up with what I thought was a highly ingenious method of saving an important document."

"I take it Donohue didn't agree with your assessment?"

He shrugged. "I believe 'a reckless and foolhardy course of action' were his exact words. He has no idea what it's like to be in a volatile situation like that."

"So what did you do with the information?" I took a sip of my tea, wincing at the taste as always. As soon as the war and rationing were over I planned to have a cup of tea filled with as much sugar as I could possibly cram in.

Matthew looked at me a bit sheepishly. "I picked out someone from the people nearby and gave it to her."

"You passed information to someone you didn't even know?" I tried to keep any trace of judgement out of my voice, knowing he needed to be able to vent to a friend. "Not too many people would have had the nerve to do that."

"What else was I supposed to do?" he protested, setting his glass down on the table with a thump. "Another few minutes and the Jerries would have had it for sure. At least this way, I kept it out of their hands. Besides, she didn't look like an enemy agent," Matthew huffed into his moustache. "She wouldn't give me her name though, I guess I kind of caught her off guard." He paused as if thinking over the encounter again. For a moment, his expression softened, but he quickly drew himself back to the present. "Anyway, I told her to deliver it to the Prime Minister."

"How precisely would you expect her to be able to accomplish that?" I asked wryly. "It's not as if she can just walk up to him and say, 'Winston, old boy, I've got a letter for you'. Besides, she probably thought you were a lunatic and tossed it into the next dustbin she passed."

"That's what Donohue pointed out," Matthew said gloomily. Suddenly a gleam came into his eyes and he straightened. "But what if she didn't?" he said slowly. "What if she believed me and tries to deliver it?"

"She might put it in the post," I suggested.

"No, I told her it was a matter of life and death. So maybe she'll try to deliver it in person. I can stake out Downing Street and see if she turns up." The spark in his eyes grew, then quickly died down. "Damn! I'm stuck at the office. Donohue will have my head on a platter if I skip out this afternoon, especially if this turns out to be a wild goose chase."

"I'll go," I found myself offering.

"What?"

"I'll go," I repeated. "I'm supposed to be at Lady Abington's tea this afternoon and it'll be a real pleasure to have an excuse to skip that. I can even go back tomorrow if that's what it takes."

"Emily, you're a lifesaver." Matthew grasped my hand. "I'll owe you for the rest of my life."

I laughed. "A couple of bars of real American chocolate will be an adequate thank you. Now, tell me what she looks like, so I'll be able to recognize her."

He leaned back in his chair with that thoughtful look in his eyes again. "About medium height, slender, soft brown hair and eyes. Pretty, too."

I wondered if Matthew was conscious that his voice had taken on a soft quality itself. I'd never heard him speak of anyone in this tone before and wondered what would happen if I was successful in locating his mystery woman. Perhaps I should just follow her and let Matthew be the one to actually contact her again.

Six months later . . .

"To the future Mr. and Mrs. Stetson." James raised his glass and we all followed suit. In honour of the auspicious occasion we were enjoying the last bottle of French wine left in our cellar from before the war.

"So have you set a date?" I asked, after taking a sip of wine.

Jennifer shook her head. "I haven't even told my family yet that I'm engaged. We thought you two should be the first to know, since if it weren't for you, Emily, we'd never have met again after that first time."

Matthew slipped his arm around Jennifer's shoulders. I thought, as I did every time I saw them together, that here were two people who were made for each other. "I'm just lucky that Emily's such a persistent friend," he said. "Not too many people would have spent an afternoon in the rain staking out 10 Downing Street."

"I believe I was promised some American chocolate as a thank you, which, by the way, I never did receive," I couldn't resist pointing out.

Jennifer spoke up in mock indignation. "That's all I'm worth? A few bits of chocolate?" She turned and slapped her fiancé lightly on the arm.

Matthew hastily back-pedalled. "No, of course not. Emily, name your price. We could name our firstborn after you," he offered gallantly.

James laughed. "That would work fine if it's a girl. Or I suppose you could always use 'Emil' for a boy."

I shook my head, unable to repress a shudder and laughed to see a similar look cross Jennifer's face. "Promise me you wouldn't do that to a defenceless infant."

She was quick to agree. "Never. Besides, couldn't we just call him 'Lee'?"

The End


End file.
